


The School of Heist

by commontrans



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commontrans/pseuds/commontrans
Summary: Based on this http://agoodsoldier.tumblr.com/post/171594702579 tumblr post. Reverse Art Heist with a few minor detail changes.





	The School of Heist

Lexa stood, feeling dwarfed, in front of the painting she had admired since middle school. The School of Athens was enormous, standing almost 17 feet tall it was easy for Lexa to feel minuscule in its presence. She had been dreaming of seeing it in person for most of her life and now that she stood in front of it she could cross the first item off her bucket list. It had taken years to save the money to get to Vatican City and now, her savings empty, her dream come true, she could truly understand why the deeply religions take pilgrimages across the world.   
Suddenly she sensed someone behind her, reminding her she isn’t the only person in awe of the massive artwork. She glanced behind her to find a striking blonde who also seemed to be in awe of the painting. Lexa stared, a bit too long. The other girl could clearly feel Lexa’s eyes on her because she shifted her gaze toward her. Blue eyes bore into her with an unreadable look. Lexa quickly averted her gaze back to the painting, mortified about being caught staring. She felt the blonde sidle up beside her.   
“Paint a picture, it’ll last longer…” The blonde spoke quietly, but Lexa could hear the teasing tone or her voice. She smirked and glanced at the woman beside her who was looking at the painting once more. Who is she, Lexa wondered.  
“I’m not much of an Artist. A picture might be a better bet, but-“ Lexa gestured to the small sign on the wall, “we can’t photograph the art.” The blonde chuckled. Lexa knew it was a bad line, but it was the best she could think of.  
“Good one, Casanova. I’m Clarke, with an E.” Clarke stuck out her hand.  
“Thanks. I’m Lexa… with an A.” Lexa took the other woman’s hand, noticing it wasn’t as soft as she expected.   
“Well, Lexa, if you’re not an artist what brought you all the way here?”  
“Wanna get lunch and I’ll tell you about it?” Lexa was never very good at putting herself out there, but she figured why the hell not? She was in a foreign country and chances are she would never see this girl again.   
“I’d love to. I know a cafe down the street.” Clarke smiled at Lexa and led her from the museum.

 

************************

“No fucking way! I don’t believe you, nope. There is no way you are going to convince me that you were the chick who screamed at Ted Cruz. Everyone has seen that video. Literally everyone. My 98 year old grandmother emailed it to me once, after learning what email is.” Lexa was having none of it. There was no way she was the badass girl in that viral video.   
“Cross my heart. I was, and am, very passionate about politics and Cruz happened to piss me off that day. I’m not proud of it… actually I am a little proud of it.” The women laughed together. Lexa couldn’t remember the last time she felt this comfortable with someone. “So, you’re not an artist?” Clarke brought them back to the topic they’d left to discuss.  
“No, more of an art lover. A teacher of mine in high school, Mr. Gustus, had that painting hanging in his classroom to remind us how important education is and how lucky we all are to get one. He was sorta my father-figure, I guess? The closest I ever had to one anyway.” Lexa fidgeted, waiting for a response. She was unused to being so open with someone she had just met, she wasn’t even used to being so open with people she’d know for years. Clarke stilled and looked at her as if she were reading a particularly difficult passage in a textbook.  
“What is it?” Lexa asked, feeling self conscious.  
“I’m just trying to figure you out. You say you’re not an artist, yet you’re here in Italy to see one of the most famous pieces of classical art? You seem down to earth and yet you spent your life savings on one trip? You, Miss Woods, are a walking contradiction.” What Clarke said was true. Lexa was filled with contradictions. It was kind of her thing.   
“I got one more for you. My father, Titus, is a gay conversion therapist. He and I don’t talk much these days.” Lexa had to slide into conversation that she is, in fact, a raging lesbian. Judging by the quirk of Clarke’s eyebrow, she was waiting for that tidbit of information.   
“It’s not really the same, but my dad died when I was like 15, so I get what it’s like to live without a father.” Clarke reached across the table and took Lexa’s hand. Her thumb traced patterns on her hand and Lexa felt safe for the first time in a long time.  
“Do you woo all the art nerds you meet in museums?” Lexa teased, her voice carrying an adoring lilt.   
“Only the ones I catch staring.” Clarke winked. Lexa blushed, but couldn’t argue. She’d been hardcore staring. Could anyone blame her? Clarke was gorgeous and not in the typical way either. Her hair wasn’t perfect, in fact, it was kind of a mess of pink streaks and blonde highlights. Her clothes were nice, but not put together well. Lexa deduced that Clarke’s mother hadn’t been all too present either, but that wasn’t her place to bring up and she had made a new years resolution to stop making assumptions… even though she was right about 100% of the time.   
“You know a lot about me now, what about you? What brought you here? Are YOU an artist? You seem to know your way around pretty well.” Lexa wanted more information about the girl across from her. She was usually the mysterious one, but the tables have turned and she felt naked. It was only fair. Clarke released Lexa’s hand and sat back in her chair to speak.   
“Yes, I am an artist, if I am even allowed to use that qualifier. I do art, I look at art, and sometimes I even get to touch the art.” Clarke’s tone didn’t let on to whether that last one was a sex joke or not so Lexa could only speculate. Clarke continued, “I’ve been living here for the past month or so, I don’t like to stay in one place for very long. Unless someone gives me a good reason to, of course.” With that Clarke leaned forward again and took Lexa’s hand back to resume tracing patterns on her hand.   
***************************   
Clarke opened her eyes, smiling to herself. She would never get used to waking up to her raccoon-eyed beauty. Lexa always forgot to take her make up off before bed, Clarke always reminded her, but without fail, Lexa always woke up with her mascara smeared around her eyes. It was barely 8am and Lexa was still sleeping. She looked younger when she slept, when she slept her trauma left her, she wasn’t carrying it in her face or in her shoulders.  
Suddenly, both their phones buzzed on the nightstand. Lexa groggily looked up to see what had woken her. She reached for her phone to look at the notification, Clarke did the same. The screens read, “CNN: BREAKING; Priceless painting stolen from Vatican museum, replied with replica.” Lexa’s eyes widened. How could someone have stolen a painting from the Vatican? How was that even possible? She couldn’t imagine it would have been easy. Whoever did it must be a pro.  
“I wonder what painting was taken.” Lexa stated, Clarke was already scanning her phone screen, searching the article for an indication of what was stolen.  
“The School of Athens. Someone stole that huge ass painting and replaced it with a replica. They aren’t sure when it was taken or how, all they know is that the painting there currently isn’t real. It could’ve been taken months ago for all they know.” Clarke relayed what she read in the article. She didn’t sound upset though, not like Lexa. Her words and tone made her sound impressed mostly.   
“How are you not upset? Angry, even?” Lexa questioned.  
“I don't know. It just doesn’t seem that big a deal to me. I know it’s an important piece, but who cares if an art collector gets ahold of it? It’ll still be admired.” Clarke was being so blasé about the whole thing.  
“That painting meant something to people, Clarke, me included. For all I know I never even saw it, the real one. I don’t know what I would do if I found out I spent my entire life savings to see a fake.” Lexa wasn’t sure why she was so bothered, Clarke hadn’t really done anything. It just rubbed her the wrong way. Clarke avoided eye contact, looking anywhere other than Lexa.   
“You didn’t see a fake. Believe me, the real one was there the day we met.” Clarke reassured her.   
“How the fuck do you know, Clarke? The only person who knows that is the bastard who stole it!” Lexa was out of breath. She had to lay back in the bed, try to calm down. Clarke laid next to her, further away than usual. Lexa didn’t like this, something wasn’t right.   
“Lexa, just trust me, please. It was taken after you saw it. I can’t tell you how I know, just trust me.” Clarke was actively freaking Lexa out at this point and Lexa wanted none of it.   
“You either tell me how you know or you watch me walk out that door. I’m serious, Clarke.” She wasn’t, but she needed to know what Clarke would do. Clarke clenched her teeth, and took a deep breath. What she said was not what Lexa expected. Then again she snit really sure what she expected.   
“I was part of a smuggling ring, an art smuggling ring. It was months ago, I was tight on cash and I had to pay off a loan shark. I did one last heist the night after we met. Me and my team in Vatican City broke in and replaced the painting with the replica. I didn’t know how to tell you, so I just didn’t. I know that was the wrong way to handle it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I am so sorry, Lexa.” Clarke sounded like she was pleading with Lexa to stay. Lexa hadn’t had any real intention of leaving until just now.   
“Where is it now? What do you do with the art you steal?” It mattered to her, she didn’t know what she would do when she found out, but she needed to know.   
“They’re kept in storage for a few months until we’re sure the scent’s gone cold. After that we deliver it to the buyer. The School of Athens is still in storage just outside Vatican City. We couldn’t risk moving it too far.” Clarke went on to explain exactly how they pulled it off and by the end Lexa was actually just a little impressed.   
“Give it back.” Lexa demanded.  
“What? Give it back? No, now that they know it’s missing giving it back will be 3 times as hard as stealing it!” Clarke was in disbelief. How did Lexa expect her to just ‘give it back’? As if it was that easy.   
“I really don’t care Clarke, but if you care about me you’ll do this. If not then please, feel free to tell me to leave.” Lexa, for once was going to do the right thing no matter the consequences. If Clarke got arrested then so be it, she kind of deserved it in Lexa’s opinion.   
“OK, ok, but I’ll need your help. It’s not like I can just call up the team and say ‘my girlfriend found out about the stolen art thing and now she says we have to give it back. Meet you all there!’ They’ll be after me, they’ll try to stop me.” Clarke explained. Lexa considered the risks; she could get arrested, she could damage the priceless piece of art, she could get caught up in some bad shit, but “no matter the consequences” meant the consequences for her too. If she got in trouble then so be it. She couldn’t just stand by and let people do whatever the hell they wanted.   
“If that’s what it takes then fine.” Lexa agreed.  
**********************  
The two women crouched behind behind the Et In Arcadia Ego, waiting for Clarke’s former teammate, Thelonious, to finish his round. Every hour on the hour one team member patrols the storage unit containing the paintings. The storage facility had no cameras to prevent law enforcement from accessing the closed circuit TV so they didn’t have to worry about being seen on screen.   
On Clarke’s signal they moved quickly as possible to the other side of the unit, stopping directly behind their main target. Only then did Lexa start to wonder how the fuck they were gonna do this. The painting was huge and they were definitely not. Not to mention it was going to look suspicious as fuck for two young women to be wandering the streets of Vatican City with a giant square covered in a sheet.   
Finally Clarke signaled to her to lift. It wasn’t heavy which was a relief, but it was awkward to hold. She realized she was holding her favorite piece of art, she held back tears. They were able to get it to the Uhaul they had rented without issue. Now all they had to do was get it back into the Raphael Rooms. Easy-peasy.   
Safely in the car, Lexa started crying. This clearly took Clarke by surprise, judging by her worried glances and opening and closing of her mouth. Clarke was unsure where she stood with Lexa now. Were they still together? Were they even still friends? Clarke, never the type to play it safe, reached over to take Lexa’s hand. Lexa gently pulled it away.  
“Sorry, I don’t know how to do this. Why are you crying?” Clarke switched approaches.   
“I just realized that I was touching that masterpiece and then felt guilty for being happy about it… considering the situation.” Lexa saw no point in lying, she loved Clarke, she trusted her, still after all this.   
“I’m sorry I got you into this. I really am. I hope when this is over you’ll be willing to talk to me. About us, I mean.” Clarke focused on the road ahead. The urge to hold Lexa’s hand was almost impossible to resist, so Clarke white-knuckled the wheel the rest of the way there. Lexa remained silent, contemplating her options. On the one hand, Clarke was (is?) an international criminal who stole priceless art for her own financial gain. On the other… She was the kindest, most genuine, and passionate person she’d ever met. She just couldn’t decide if the good outweighed the bad.   
The women pulled up to the loading area behind the building they were wearing maintenance uniforms and hats to hide their faces from the cameras. They opened the truck and removed the painting, slowly, so as not to dent the frame or damage the canvas. Lexa, nimble as she is, was able to swipe an ID card form a security guard earlier that day after they landed. They had stopped by the museum to scout the best way to break back in and switch the paintings. Loading dock seemed to be the best option.   
Clarke waived the card in front of the sensor to unlock the door and they were in. This was much easier than it should be, Lexa thought. She thought too soon.  
Clarke suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing Lexa to jolt to a stop, nearly dropping her side of the painting.   
“There’s a guard up ahead. He hasn’t seen us. Turn around and lead us to the side hallway we passed.” Clarke instructed Lexa, who listened even though her heart was in her throat and her legs were shaking a little. How the hell did Clarke do this? The anxiety was debilitating. Her palms were sweating which it difficult to hold onto the painting. It kept slipping and she had to keep switching hands to avoid letting it fall.   
They made it to the hallway and waited for the guard to be far enough away to slip by him. He passed by them, too close for comfort. He stopped just up the hall form them. Lexa feared they’d been found out. He turned back and headed toward them. Clarke gently placed her hand on Lexa’s knee, knowing how she must be feeling and wanting to soothe her worries. Clarke knew what the guard was doing and wasn’t worried. He passed their hiding spot again and disappeared. Clarke had set a smoke bomb to go off at this time when they scouted the place this morning. It triggered the motion sensor and drew attention away from the area they were in. Clarke had managed to tape over the sensors in the Raphael Room and in the halls leading to it while she was setting up the smoke bomb.   
Once they got past the guard they were faced with the next obstacle. The locked doors to the Raphael Rooms. Clarke simply got to work. She had some tool, long and pointy, presumedly for lock picking. She made easy work of it and they were in. The replica that had been placed there was gone and the empty space on the wall seemed to be screaming for its rightful inhabitant. All they had to do was hang the real School of Athens and they good to go. In the home stretch, shit was bound to hit the fan, and it did. Just as they were finishing hanging the real painting they heard an alarm go off. It was time to run. Neither was sure what the alarm was for. All they knew was that it was time to go. They got the painting hung (crookedly) and took off. The halls were being sprayed with water, it must have been a fire alarm, which was both a relief and a problem. It meant they hadn’t yet been detected, but if they didn’t get out before the fire department and police showed up then they would be trapped inside a potentially burning building or would be arrested by the Vatican City authorities.   
The door leading to the loading dock was up ahead and Lexa released a sigh of relief. They were gonna make it, she could see the light, but when they got to the door it was locked. Clarke waived the ID in front of the sensor, it blinked red, remaining locked. She pulled the doors with all her strength, they wouldn’t budge. They were trapped inside a building, that was possibly on fire and that was, by now, surrounded by police and firemen.   
Force once, Clarke was out of ideas. If she were facing only one of the current issues she could think her way out of it, but both? She needed help.   
“Lexa, I don’t know how we’re gonna get out of this.” Clarke admitted, her head hanging.  
“Can you get us out of the building? If you can do that then I can handle any police or firemen we encounter. Take a breath, we have a little time.” Lexa breathed with Clarke. When she was calm enough she thought it through. Pictured the floor plan in her head. There was an emergency exit somewhere nearby, there had to be. Then she remembered, in the Raphael Rooms, in the far corner. There was an “emergency only” exit there. It let out behind the building, there were unlikely to be first responders there.   
“We have to go back.” Clarke blurted.  
“Go back? Back where?” Lexa didn't understand.  
“We need to get back to the Raphael Rooms! There is an emergency exit there that should be unlocked.” Clarke briefly explained. Lexa had no more questions, she followed as Clarke took off.   
They could smell smoke when they got to the Rooms and they could faintly hear firefighters shouting in Italian far off. They made it just in time.  
“There!” Clarke pointed. Both women ran toward the exit and breathed the fresh air. Lexa scanned their surroundings for any law enforcement. When she saw none they made their way slowly back around the building toward the Uhaul. They got there second. The police had spotted the vehicle and were making their way over to it. Lexa had to handle them. She pulled Clarke against the wall into the darkness.   
“OK, I said I’d handle them. I need you to run to the truck and start it. I will take care of the officers.” Lexa sprinted off before Clarke could argue. She reached the truck just as Lexa landed her first blow to the larger officer. He fell instantly in a heap. The other officer, knowing he was much smaller, still stepped forward, hand ready to draw his weapon. Lexa was much faster, though. She seized her opponent’s hand and twisted it until he complied. She lowered him to the ground before knocking him unconscious. Clarke just sat there stunned. How did she not know Lexa could fight like that? Lexa leapt back in the truck and simply said “DRIVE!” and so she drove, fast.   
Once they were far enough away from the scene to relax, Clarke spoke, “How the FUCK did you not tell me you were a fucking UFC fighter?!” Lexa chuckled.  
“UFC fighter? No. My sister, Anya, you know Anya, yeah she was in the military. Special Ops or something top secret, she isn’t allowed to tell me. She taught me how to fight because she was afraid people at church would try to hurt me after I came out. She was right.” Lexa explained. Not her fondest memory. That’s why she was reluctant to tell her about her skill.   
“Damn, you never fail to impress me.” Clarke eyes let on how much she adored the other woman. She didn't want to say it in fear of Lexa not reciprocating.   
Lexa stayed silent for a few minutes. Thinking about a lot of things. The future of her relationship with Clarke, the fact that she just committed a reverse heist, but most of all she was thinking about the fact that they put the painting back into a burning building.   
“Do you think the painting survived? The fire I mean.” Lexa asked.  
“Honestly, I don’t know. I hope so, it’s important to you, so it’s important to me. Lexa, I love you.” Clarke was crying quietly. “I don’t need an answer now. I’d just like a definitive answer at some point. I’m willing to wait. As long as you need.”  
“I’ll always be with you, Clarke; even if I can’t find it in myself to forgive you.” Lexa needed to think everything over. She needed her sister.  
******************  
Anya stared at her in disbelief. It was such an outrageous story, Anya wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. Lexa wasn’t one to joke around. She was funny, but no prankster. So, Anya played along, half afraid her sister had lost her mind.   
“So, you’re telling me, that Clarke, badass, babe with blue eyes, that for some god-only-knows-why reason wanted to date you? That Clarke?” Anya just wanted to get all her facts straight.  
“Yes Anya, that Clarke. How many women do you know named Clarke? Anyway, I don’t know if I can forgive her. I don’t know if we can go back to the way we were.” Lexa fretted.  
“Who says you have to go back? Why do things have to be exactly the same? People change and evolve. Your relationship has to evolve with you.” Anya relayed her sacred big sister advice. (despite never having been able to hold a steady boyfriend, but that’s neither here nor there…)  
“Shit.”  
“What?”  
“I hate when you’re right. I love her, Anya. This is different than Costia, she is truly vulnerable with me.” Lexa was having a revelation.  
“Then go get her, dumbass!” Anya slapped her on the back of the head and pushed her out the front door.   
Lexa, without a car, jogged the 12 blocks from Anya’s place to her and Clarke’s place. She barged into the apartment, scaring the shit out of Clarke, who was crying into some ice cream. Lexa noted the episode of Dawson’s Creek that was on. She hadn’t seen that one yet. Clarke jumped up and tried to fix herself, in an (unsuccessful) effort to look presentable, but Lexa didn’t care.  
“Clarke, I love you.”  
“But?”  
“No, no but. I love you. I’m willing to work on this. Under the condition that you inform me of any other large or small scale organized crime.” Lexa realized that sounded like a joke, “I’m not joking, Clarke, note my tone.” Clarke chuckled anyway.  
“I know, I know. You’re just cute. I love you so much, Lexa. I want to love you for the rest of my life.”   
“I hope we get that chance.” Lexa said as she walked over toward to blonde crime lord. She kissed her like she hadn’t done so in years. She was no longer lost, Lexa refound her. The heist was successful and so was love.


End file.
